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ARNOLD W. BRUNNER 


AFTER THE PORTRAIT IN THE ACADEMY OF DESIGN 
BY IRVING R. WILES 


By 


ROBERT I. AITKEN 
: EDWIN H. BLASHFIELD gee 
Bee. _ DANIEL C. FRENCH © | Pa 
2 “CLAYTON HAMILTON is 
J. HORACE McFARLAND 
: _ BRANDER MATTHEWS 
pee BRAND. WHITLOCK 
CHARLES HARRIS WHITAKER 


iy 


= enh) ge CopyricutT, 1926 
er hae Press OF THE AMERICAN INSTITUTE OF ARCH 


ARNOLD W. BRUNNER 


THE MAN 


J 


T MUST have been sometime in the year 1910 that I met Arnold 
Brunner for the first time; the year is not quite so vivid in my 
memory as the event, nor of so much importance, for it was of 
importance, to me at least, as the making of a friend must always be. 
It was in the new post office at Cleveland, then in process of con- 
struction; Arnold Brunner was the architect of that building, and I can 
see him now as I saw him then, in the midst of the dust and disorder, the 
noise and turmoil of the bewildering task, a trim, energetic figure, quite 
immaculate and serene, as smartly turned out as though he were going 
for a leisurely stroll down Fifth Avenue, if gentlemen were still strolling 
leisurely down Fifth Avenue in those days, though his manner, per- 
haps, should not be called leisurely, so hard did he work all the time. 
He came up briskly, with the confident manner characteristic of him, 
his eyes sparkling behind their glasses and his engaging smile lighting 
up the distinguished face with the close-clipped pointed beard. What 
we said I do not remember; he showed us about, I suppose, but as 
buildings under construction never interested me so much as they might 
hope to do—if they cared for my opinion—later on when they had 
miraculously got themselves finished, and out of their chaos had evolved 
that order and symmetry in which their designers’ dreams come true, 
I suspect that I enjoyed more keenly the talk that we had over our 
luncheon afterward. Frank Millet, the artist who went down on the 
Titanic, was of our small party, and we talked about painting and 
afterward went to look at the mural decorations that Millet was doing 
for one of the public buildings then being erected in Cleveland. 
There were a good few of these, for Cleveland in those days, under 
its mayor, Tom Johnson, was beginning to realize itself as a great city, 


8 ASR NSO Dep ew 9B RU: NEN ak 


and was being transformed rapidly from a sprawling mid-western town 
into a modern metropolis. The old haphazard way of letting a town 
grow up as it pleased was being abandoned, and the new public build- 
ings were being designed with a view to a harmonious ensemble, so 
that, besides their utility, they might have beauty as well. Arnold 
Brunner had designed not only the new post office, and the new court 
house and the new customs house and I know not what other new 
buildings besides. He was appointed a member of the Board of Super- 
vision of Public Buildings and Grounds in Cleveland, and was, I think, 
then or later, president, and I fancy that it was very largely his genius 
that inspired the whole plan that was adopted for the grouping of the 
new public buildings. 

He had indeed a genius for this kind of work. Nobody gave more 
thought or deeper study to the problem of building cities than he; no 
one was more intimately or responsibly associated with the remarkable 
movement in favor of municipal order and beauty in America, and no- 
body achieved more lasting practical results. It came to be, in a sense, 
his life-work. It may not at once be apparent what a tremendous task 
this was. Town councilmen in those days, and for aught I know in 
these, were apt to look upon such schemes as the illusions of impractical 
dreamers and visionaries, and with something of the distrust of any 
esthetic suggestion that must always exist in democracies. To accom- 
plish what he did, Arnold Brunner had not only to overcome this 
distrust and allay these suspicions of the artistic, but he had to devote 
an appalling amount of time and study to problems that the practical 
city fathers had never imagined. 

“They think that I want them to let me tie pink ribbons on the 
lamp-posts,” he once complained to me, in as near an approach to de- 
spair as he was capable of. But with him such moments did not last 
long. He was smiling again, even before the phrase was finished, for 
he had his vision and his faith. In his imagination he saw not only the 
building he was designing; he saw all the other buildings that then were 
standing in the town, many of which no doubt he would have pulled 


miter i ALN 9 


down if he could, and, what was more difficult, he saw all the buildings 
that were to be erected in that town in the future. He was obliged to 
study not only the problems proper to the architect, but he had to 
study economics, the incidence of taxation, the mysterious movements 
of traffic, trade, and population; he had to see the town, not as it looked 
to its contemporary inhabitants, but as it was going to look to the 
men of fifty or a hundred years hence. And that was not all; he had 
to study the ways of politicians, and exercise the tact of a diplomat in 
dealing with them. 

It was a subject in which I was interested in those days, for I then 
had the honor to be mayor of my own city of Toledo, where there 
was building to be done as well as in Cleveland. In many of these 
works Arnold Brunner became our adviser. He designed a city hall, 
a bridge, a group of public buildings, and guided our commission in its 
preparation of a city plan. It was during those years that our friend- 
ship ripened and that I came to know him best. He was an artist in 
the fullest sense. His culture was broad, his appreciation instant, and 
his judgment sound; he knew not only his own art, or the one he 
practised, but he knew something of all the arts, and conceivably might 
have practised any one of them had he chosen. He could talk of paint- 
ing, or of literature, and his coming was always a pleasure, because one 
knew there would be something besides shop to talk about. There was 
something of the Renaissance about him; in spirit and achievement 
he reminded one of the artists of those times, because they were not 
only artists, but men of affairs as well. He combined their sense of 
the practical with their appreciation of the beautiful. He had their 
robust faith in themselves, their enormous energy, their industry, their 
healthy attitude toward life, their vision of beauty and utility in har- 
monious combination, their gaiety and their joy in their work. And he 
will be remembered as one of the pioneers in that remarkable move- 
ment which has made America the leader of the work in architecture. 

The long list of public buildings that he designed and erected, and 
of the cities— Baltimore, Rochester, Denver, Albany—for which he 


10 ARN O-LDSD Wi ib RU NONCE 


prepared plans or whose rulers he advised in their improvements on 
the grand scale, is the best testimony to his authority in this field. 
President Roosevelt, with his flair for rare and special ability, recog- 
nized Arnold Brunner as one of the men best qualified in this respect; 
he appointed him a member of the National Commission of Fine Arts, 
and Arnold Brunner played no small part in carrying out L’Enfant’s 
long-neglected plan for the embellishment of Washington. As a citizen 
and as a member of the Fine Arts Commission he did a great deal for his 
own city of New York, which he loved so well and for which he 
labored so hard. He was a kind of ideal citizen, really fond of civic 
activities, and fond of talking about the problems that perplexed and 
fascinated him. It was a pleasure to listen to him, for he was a good 
conversationalist and had an engaging way of communicating his own 
interest and enthusiasm. He had a sense of humor that enlivened his 
discourse, for he did not wish anyone to think that he took himself 
too seriously. This same ability made him a compelling lecturer, and 
he went about all over the country, often at a sacrifice to himself, 
delivering addresses to civic bodies on his favorite subject of city plan- 
ning, illustrating his talks with lantern slides and brightening them by 
incidents of his wide travels. He was, as I have already said, interested 
in all the arts, especially in the art of painting, and his holidays were 
often spent in sketching tours in America and England and France. 
But his chief happiness, after all, was in the work of his own profession. 
He was a man of enormous industry and wore himself out, I fear, with 
hard work, for to accomplish all that he did, to answer the exacting 
demands of his profession, to travel day and night, and to give lectures, 
as it were, in the intervals of his labors, required an enormous expendi- 
ture of vital force. But he did it all willingly and gladly, even gaily, 
and as though it was nothing at all, and never spared himself. 

It is agreeable to think that the splendid structures he built all over 
the land will stand as monuments to his remarkable achievement. For 
it is a remarkable achievement, just how remarkable his friends are 
only beginning to realize now that he is gone. The sad news of his 


eee 


7oriehe= MAN Il 


passing came with that peculiar shock which one feels on hearing of 
the death of someone very young; it was so unexpected and so pre- 
mature that it seemed quite incredible. He seemed to be in the full 
flush and vigor of his life, the full tide of his strenuous activity. It 
never occurred to one that his activities were so near their end; he was 
so young, so debonair, so full of the energy and enthusiasm that belong 
to youth alone. It is a pleasant and inspiring memory that he leaves, 
the memory of a friend who was a master of his art, not only because 
he had developed his talents and his power to the utmost, but because 
he was intelligently interested in so many other wonderful and beau- 


tiful things that lay outside its scope. 
BRAND WHITLOCK 


Mi 


HE ARCHITECT is not only the most communal of artists; 

he is also the most self-effacing. Although he works in durable 
materials, rearing monuments that may outlast such lofty civili- 
zations as those of Egypt, Greece, and Rome, his name is writ in water. 
Every school-child knows the name of Phidias, the sculptor who 
adorned the Parthenon; but few college presidents could tell the name 
of the architect who designed that perfect building. The architect 
produces art for the sake of the public, and neglects to sign his com- 
positions. Even among cultured people, how many in a thousand know 
the names of the architects who planned the Taj Mahal, the Maison 
Carrée at Nimes, the Roman Colosseum, the Sainte Chapelle in Paris, 
the nave of Amiens, the choir of Lincoln, or the towers of Chartres? 
In this present period of extravagant publicity, column after column 

in the public press is devoted to the celebration of second-rate painters, 
third-rate sculptors, fourth-rate authors, fifth-rate actors, sixth-rate 
musicians, and seventh-rate motion-picture directors; whereas very 
little is ever said in print concerning the achievements of those archi- 


12 ARN O:TD ea seuenet N NG ER 


tects who have designed our finest national and civic monuments. The 
noblest tower of Manhattan Island is known to the general public by 
the name of Mr. F. W. Woolworth, who paid for it, instead of being 
known by the name of the architect who designed it. It is as if the 
Rembrandts in the Metropolitan Museum of Art should be signed and 
labelled with the name of Mr. Benjamin Altman, who purchased them 
and gave them to the public. It is not at all surprising, therefore, that 
not one American citizen in a hundred thousand can name the archi- 
tect who designed the dome of the National Capitol in Washington. 

Because the architect works publicly for the public, he must be a 
man of the world; because the execution of his projects requires the 
expenditure of large amounts of money, he must be a man of affairs; 
but, because his work is very nearly anonymous, he must almost neces- 
sarily remain a modest man. 

It is not surprising, therefore, that, when Arnold Brunner died, on 
the 14th of February, 1925, the man in the street was scarcely aware 
that the United States had suffered an appreciable loss; yet this modest 
man was one of our leading architects and most serviceable citizens. In 
many cities of this country it would be possible to say of Arnold Brunner, 
“If you seek his monument—look about you.” The state building at 
Harrisburg, the post office in Cleveland, the School of Mines at Columbia, 
the stadium of the College of the City of New York, the cadet hospital 
at West Point, the great bridge at Harrisburg—these are only a few 
of the anonymous achievements which have benefited hundreds of 
thousands of American citizens to whom the name of their benefactor 
is unknown. 

It is particularly fitting that, when an architect of the calibre of Arnold 
Brunner has completed his life’s work, his achievements should be re- 
corded and commemorated by a jury of his peers. Mr. Brunner’s mani- 
fold activities brought him into intimate contact with the leaders in many 
other lines of artistic and communal endeavor; and, in the present volume, 
these activities will be expounded by several of his most eminent col- 
laborators and associates. In this informal appreciation, it remains for 


THE MAN 13 


the present writer only to say a little about Arnold Brunner in his 
private capacity as a gentleman and as a friend. 

He was one of the most clubbable of men. In New York, he was 
a popular member of the Century Association, the Engineers’ Club, and 
The Players; in Washington, of the Cosmos Club; and, in Cleveland, of 
the Union Club; but, of these, his favorite haunt was The Players, which 
was situated just across Gramercy Park from hisapartment at 1 Lexington 
Avenue. Down in the basement of this old home of Edwin Booth’s, at 
fivethirty in the afternoon, a silence used to fall, as if the congregated 
ghosts of the great dead which haunt that hallowed region were expect- 
ing the arrival of an equal; and then the silence would be interrupted 
by the tapping of quick feet on the marble stairs, and Arnold Brunner 
would appear, with an expansive gesture of the arms, as if he were pre- 
paring to shake hands simultaneously with a dozen friends. Then ensued 
what, to a score of members of The Players, was generally known as 
Arnold Brunner’s hour. He was fluent, brisk, and copious in talk, but 
never garrulous. He dominated the conversation merely because, in very 
truth, he had the most to say. He never mentioned architecture and 
rarely referred to any of the arts, except perhaps the current drama; 
but he talked keenly and acutely about the events of the day and the 
public problems of the moment. In his customary conversation, he 
seemed less like an artist than like a successful man of affairs and a 
public-spirited citizen. 

In appearance, also, he seemed more like the president of a bank or 
of a railroad than like the shy and almost furtive artist of those delicate 
sketches in pen and ink and water colors which are illustrated in 
the present volume. He was always finely dressed, with that little touch 
of dignified formality which became a gentleman whose manners had 
been inherited from a generation more punctilious than that which now 
is pushing to the front. Though he was not a tall man, he had a fine 
figure and carried himself like a soldier. He was distinctly good-looking, 
and, in any company, would catch the eye, as one who had authority. 

Yet he never talked about himself, except to narrate humorously 


14 AcRIN O CeD- pay a Dako. NENGE CR 


his unavoidable contentions with the ignorant politicians whose tem- 
porary positions oftentimes permitted them to interfere with the ex- 
ecution of his communal designs. He was never happier than when he 
told a joke upon himself — except when he was able to render a service 
to some fellow-artist. He was one of the kindest and most generous of 
men; and he seemed always to glory more in the successes of his friends 
than in his own. 

For many years, while I was actively engaged as a critic of the cur- 
rent drama, it was necessary for me to attend the theatre almost every 
night, and it was understood between my wife and myself that we 
could never go to dinner parties. To this domestic rule we made one 
exception, and only one. Whenever we were invited to dine at the 
Arnold Brunner’s, we accepted immediately, regardless of the theatrical 
calendar. There was no other household in New York in which it 
was quite so agreeable to dine. The parties were always small, num- 
bering usually from eight to twelve, and the company was always se- 
lected with unerring tact. Arnold Brunner chose his friends not because 
they were famous, or wealthy, or well placed, but because they were 
intelligent and likable. There was never a dull person at his dinners; 
and he bound his friends not only to himself, but to each other, with 
bonds that were as light and tight as heart-strings. He did not star him- 
self at his dinner-parties; he starred, instead, the charming woman who 
was his wife, and of whose personal and social talents he was far more 
proud than of any achievements of his own. And, quick and ready 
though he was in talk, he was also an eager and an interested listener, 
and was most happy to efface himself when the give and take between 
his well-selected guests became most animated. 

When Arnold Brunner died, many of his most intimate friends were 
amazed to be informed that he was nearly sixty-eight years old. They 
had always thought of him as a man in his fifties. His black hair was 
scarcely touched with grey, his dark eyes were young and bright, his 
complexion fresh and clear. He carried himself alertly, moved nimbly; 
and his entire personality was electrified with an ardent and abounding 


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ati oa M: AgN 15 


energy. Nobody ever thought of age or illness in connection with 
Arnold Brunner; and on this account his sudden death seemed, for 
a long time, to his intimates, to be almost unbelievable. And perhaps 
it is not over-fanciful to find an answer to this enigma in that maxim 
of the Greeks—that those whom the gods love die young. 

The years go on; but still a silence falls, at fivethirty in the after- 
noon, in the basement of the old house in Gramercy Park which used 
to be the home of Edwin Booth; and men like Oliver Herford, the artist, 
and Robert Aitken, the sculptor, and a dozen others, still listen for the 
tapping of quick feet adown the marble stairs which announces the 
advent of Arnold Brunner’s hour. The dapper presence, the debonair 
demeanor, the youthful exuberance, the healthy energy, the hearty 
handshake, the rich and resonant laughter, the kindly word, the generous 
suggestion —all these well-remembered traits sweep down the stairway 
like a breeze from the front door; and they hover in the atmosphere 


until the clock is nearing seven. 
CLAYTON HAMILTON 


Te Bane ee er 


ROADLY speaking, one may come into the practice of archi- 

tecture by either the romantic or the pedantic route. These are 

large terms, to be sure, and yet they make as good a general 
definition of that sort as any other. Whether or no they are sufficiently 
inclusive and defined to afford a comparison of the value of either route is 
a question for the pedagogues. The sponsors of the romantic method will 
stoutly contend that such is the road that genius always takes. What 
the supporters of the other method will say is not difficult to imagine, 
and in all that they say there will be some but not all of the truth. 
To clarify, in the present instance, it might be said that the romantic 
term here used would imply primarily a quest for beauty and a wish- 
fulness ultimately to test one’s creative powers not wholly in a lucra- 
tive sense. 

Arnold W. Brunner, one would say without hesitation, was drawn 
toward architecture by the magnet of romance rather than by the pale 
austerities of academicism. Good fortune took him by the hand at an 
early date, and together they crossed the Atlantic and came to a school 
in England. Those who know anything of either the social or educa- 
tional traditions of the English schools of the seventies of the last cen- 
tury will not, upon reflection, be likely to consider that fortune did 
him an ill turn. What greater problem of adjustment could a boy find 
than in being plunged as the only American among a group of English 
schoolboys? Although it is barely six decades ago, imagine what an 
uitlander a young New Yorker would then have appeared, for the 
English youth of that day were neither unaware of nor timid at looking 
for and commenting upon the crudities that Americans were said to 
possess in an unexampled manner. A rougher test in adaptation could 
not have been given to a lad from the United States, and we may feel 
quite sure that the qualities that Arnold Brunner later developed in — 
his relations with men, both in private and in public life, the evidence 
of which has in this volume been so sincerely chronicled, were solidly 


GRANADA 


AFTER THE WATER COLOR BY MR. BRUNNER 


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‘- 


fariek -A R GeHEPaeEC 17 


rooted in those early English experiences. Those qualities are as neces- 
sary to an architect as to any other man whose calling requires that 
he shall live a full and rounded life. If the method of implanting them 
would seem too harsh for many a parent, even in a day when parental 
authority was scarcely challenged, it had the merit of that thoroughness, 
that deep-rootedness which has ever been one of the cardinal funda- 
mentals of a masterful race. 

Coming back to New York, Brunner went to a public school, but 
it was not long ere there were definite stirrings and inclinations. The 
record of his school-life in England is a scanty one, but it seems wholly 
reasonable to suppose that the architectural savor of England had not 
been missed, or that the lavish record of the building craftsmen, written 
in wood and stone and brick wherever one may care to roam from 
Land’s End to Thurso, had not escaped the eye that was later to guide 
his hand in the making of the astonishing sketches that he has left. 
Perhaps it was in coming back to New York that Brunner became sen- 
sitive to the poverty of the American architecture of that day—a 
desperate poverty, generally speaking, such as could hardly be realized 
save by the American traveller abroad or the foreigner coming to our 
shores. What more natural, then, than his determination to give over 
his school and to take the romantic road that still might be found, in 
those days, in the office of a practising architect? 

The records, as I have said, are very scanty; merely a jotting here 
and there; certain outstanding events and dates, and yet in the effort 
to piece them together a certain fabric seems to weave itself and to be 
quite clear in the pattern. Brunner had definitely chosen the archi 
tectural career as a result of certain experiences, and inasmuch as an 
architectural school was unheard of in the England of his school days, 
it seems probable that he had become keenly aware, by contact and 
observation, of what another age had done in building and had felt 
the urge behind it all. But if the school did not suit, neither did the 
office of an architect. Perhaps the vista there opened seemed over-long, 
or perhaps the work was dull and uninspiring, or may it not have been 


18 A ReN*O LD Wosbee NEN OBER 


that the new architectural school in Boston seemed the answer? We 
shall never know for sure, but, in any event, Brunner soon left the 
architect's office and went to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 
the architectural department of which was then presided over by the 
greatly beloved William R. Ware. From that institution he was gradu- 
ated in the Class of "79, among the members of which were H. Langford 
Warren, James Knox Taylor, William M. Kendall, Frank Alden, Robert 
Harlow, and Wadsworth Longfellow, a group of men familiar to every 
American who has even no more than a casual acquaintance with the 
history of American architects and their works. Looking backward 
to that day, this seems to have been a pretty tolerable achievement 
for a youth of twenty-two, for Brunner was born in New York City, 
September 25, 1857. 

On coming back to New York City, he at once entered the office 
of George B. Post, one of the then very prominent figures in American 
architectural practice, and there he began diligently the process of fitting 
the romantic and the pedantic to the practical, learning the steps by 
which the dream emerges, assumes form and shape in drawings, and 
ultimately is translated into the finished structure. Some four years or 
thereabouts he must have kept at this task, for during the greater part 
of the years 1884-85 he was roaming the continent of Europe. Shall 
we opine that romance had again taken full sway? What else can one 
imagine as one scans the pages whereon he recorded his impressions 
and so plainly revealed the quality and extent of his interest? Only a 
keen sense of something very akin to romance could have inspired the 
record of that period that Arnold Brunner hasleft. The grandiose and the 
monumental, the pedantic and the stylistic, were very obviously what 
he was not seeking. His eye was for what we must call the homely 
things, the vividly human things, the long steady flow of things. He 
looked at architecture not as a pedant but as a poet. He sensed the 


definite relationship between the flow of life and the flow of building, — 


with its changing character, its streams of tendencies, its slow response 
to new needs or to new methods. He saw also order, harmony, and 


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Fico i oes es Oy | Std (edad bet OB 19 


a decent regard for the structural ensemble that makes up every fine 
communal growth, and the worth of which is determined, in every 
way, not by the brilliant performance of individual artists but by the 
common regard for that very decency of ensemble, once seemingly so 
simple and today so difficult, almost so impossible. 

With an accuracy, a spontaneity, a deftness that could hardly be 
surpassed, he caught the living things—groups of peasant women at 
the market, a knot of sailors sitting on a bench or leaning idly over a 
parapet wall, a priest going languidly in the sun, a housewife in her 
ancient kitchen, and then, relating all of these to the structural en- 
vironment, to their daily comings and goings, and to the comings and 
goings of long lines of forefathers, he drew gable ends, quaint chimney 
pots, the delicious turn of a baluster, the upward flight of a stone stair, 
the sweet curve of an iron railing or the simple pattern of a grill; door- 
ways, windows, bits of carvings, capitals, a sculptured torso—all the 
intimate touches that your true architect loves with a great joy, for in 
them he recognizes the freedom and the skill of the master workers 
that were and are no more. Turning the pages of Brunner’s sketch- 
books one becomes aware of two things: the marvelous draughtsman- 
ship that was his, and the still unmolded mind, free to feed avidly upon 
the past, free to ripen slowly and so in some measure to prepare for 
the new era that was just dawning in the United States. 

On his return from Europe there was formed with Thomas Tryon 
the partnership of Brunner & Tryon. During the period of this asso- 
ciation nothing of note occurred. It was not until 1898, some time after 
the firm had ceased, that Brunner won the competition for Mt. Sinai 
Hospital in New York City and took his definite place among American 
architects. Mt. Sinai was one of the noteworthy hospitals of its day, 
as it still is, so it seems fair to conclude that Brunner must have brought 
certain ripened talents to a competition which he was successful in 
winning from a group of well-established practitioners. 

The Federal Building at Cleveland was won in another competition 
in 1901, again from a brilliant field, and coincident with this project 


20 AYR NOD D> Wet tbe aN aN THe 


Brunner began to give great attention to the modern problems of city- 
planning. Cleveland was one of the first cities seriously to consider a 
group plan for its public buildings, but the movement was everywhere 
taking form. Unfortunately, practically the entire attention of public- 
spirited citizens was at that time concentrated on amelioration. Our 
cities had developed at the whim and caprice of individual interest. 
Everywhere was the unpleasant legacy of selfish seeking. Slums, conges- 
tion, disorder,— and to a mind such as Arnold Brunner’s the spectacle 
and the opportunity were accepted asa challenge. Of his labors in this 
field others have written. Largely his dreams were unrealized during his 
lifetime. The forces to be reckoned with were more stubborn than the 
pioneers had imagined. In our optimism we believed that the remaking 
of cities could be accomplished without disturbing the pecuniary factors 
and processes by which these same cities had been built, but the prob- 
lem was not so easy. The colossal blunders of the past were not to be so 
easily undone, and yet to Arnold Brunner must be given the praise that 
we accord to the pioneer, the stouthearted and the courageous adven- 
turers in the wilderness that lies beyond established tradition and 
hallowed custom. | 

In 1910 the fever of the new era in American architecture was 
pulsing high, for the authorities at Washington, long overdue in their 
activities, had ventured upon certain large plans for the improvement 
of the capital city. Indeed, the Plan of Washington, as it was called, 
had been another of the prime factors in stimulating attention upon the 
fast multiplying ills of American urban development. Growing out of 
the intensive study of this plan came an architectural competition for 
three buildings that were to be grouped as an element in the large 
scheme, a comprehensive part of the great whole, the outline of which 
was sketched in by Washington and L’Enfant as far back as 1793. The 
competitors were in three sets, twenty for each of the buildings. There 
were three independent juries and yet there was a common under- 
standing, even an official instruction, that the buildings were to be 
studied in design as a problem of harmonious relation. The pick of 


Pu tie bo 7h Cabicloiek Grob 21 


the American profession competed for these now historic buildings 
that were never built. Brunner won the commission to design the 
building for the Department of State; York & Sawyer won the building 
for Commerce and Labor; while Donn Barber won the building for 
the Department of Justice. The architectural profession heaved a sigh 
of satisfaction, for it seemed as though the capital city was really em- 
barked upon an architectural plan that would give a tremendous impetus 
to other cities and exercise a profound impression upon the growing 
demand for better architecture. 

But the end of this much-trumpeted project, as already intimated, 
was an inglorious one. We need not venture far into a study of the 
apathy of Congress or its reluctance to vote considerable sums for the 
improvement of Washington. The temptation to spend money where 
it will produce votes is not an unrecognized factor in American political 
life, and this in spite of the fact that in 1910 the functions of govern- 
ment in Washington were disgracefully housed, even as they have con- 
tinued so to be ever since. Arnold Brunner never lived to see the frui- 
tion of his plans. When he died, February 14, 1925, the vanished years 
had seen the original site for which his design was made pass out of 
the scene, and now the whole project will have to be studied anew. 
But such as this were the heartbreaking vicissitudes of architectural 
practice. What architect has not known them? What office has not 
many such skeletons in the closet of dreams? Today, sixteen years after 
the event, there looms in sight the possibility that Congress will finally 
take cognizance of the deplorable situation it has so long ignored and 
that gradually there may be begun an orderly public building program 
for the capital city of the nation. 

In this plan for Washington, Brunner took the keenest interest. 
Indeed, from about 1900 on, he was leaning more and more toward 
the larger aspects of architecture. City-planning claimed more and more 
of his time. He had gone a long way from the dream period of 1884, 
and yet the trail of those romantic days lies clear in many of his projects, 
although there was a vast difference in scale. He was interested, deeply 


22 A°RUN- Of DW Bae UN aN bay 


and intensely, in plans and projects out of which a sane and beneficent 
architecture might be evolved. He had the pioneer’s faith. He had 
the American confidence. He had the English patience. He had the 
tenacity, the sense of scale, the insistence on esthetic factors that I 
think he would have attributed to what he had learned during his 
long rambles in France, the country he so loved and the people whose 
reasonable outlook he so greatly admired. We shall reckon his place 
in American architecture—in spite of the important buildings he de- 
signed, in spite of the great project at Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, now 
partially completed—more by the history of his unrealized dreams, by 
the tale of his courage in grappling fearlessly with essentially new prob- 
lems involving considerations and details such as no architect ever before 
had to face. The pecuniary processes of city building are not lightly 
to be tampered with, as we are beginning slowly and painfully to learn. 

Looking backward to the sketch-books to which I have so often re- 
ferred and then to the dreams of later life, we shall discover the imprint 
of a man who found romance in both. Surely Arnold Brunner found a 
considerable measure of it in the chessboard of American city problems. 
Technically, the moves seemed simple and straightforward. Economi- 
cally, there were checks at every turn. But for Brunner the romance 
was there. It was rooted deep in the old communal development of 
Europe, in the remembered harmonies that dwelt in many an old-time 
ordered square and skyline, in the decencies that held individualism in 
check. It was these things that Brunner wished in some manner to 
expand and so lend them, on a great scale, to heal the gaping wounds 
left by our unbridled individualism and the resultant growing pains of — 
our American urban agglomerations. Architecture, in its true sense, 
means that if it means anything. This Brunner felt deeply and that 
feeling is the base upon which the true architect rests, for architecture is 
primarily a social servant; only as it makes for order and serenity may 


it claim to be the greatest of the arts. 
CHARLES Harris WHITAKER 


EES GER eee EAN NER 


RNOLD W. BRUNNER was an architect by profession and 
also very much of a city planner by inclination. Including these 
professional and technical qualifications in his capacity for use- 

fulness, he was something more important than either or both—a 
militant good citizen, an eloquent advocate, a man with a passion for 
useful, orderly beauty in everyday surroundings, not only in the home 
and in the office but in the street and in the city. He thought, worked, 
and spoke continually for the advantage of the eyes of the so-called 
“plain people” who crowd the streets and live in most of the houses 
in our yet generally ugly cities. 

As an architect I have no competence to estimate or discuss his 
achievements; save in one important instance, I have no detailed 
knowledge of what he did. I do know that he had a noble concep- 
tion of his profession, as evidenced in an address made in 1915 to 
the National Institute of Arts and Letters, meeting in Boston, in which 
he said: 

“We architects are the scene painters of the world. Much of the 
scenery, the backgrounds of great events, remain today as records, and 
are more convincing than written history. Constructed of enduring 
materials these scenes of marble, granite and bronze bring to our senses 
a vivid realization of stirring actions and heroic deeds of actors long 
since gone. ¥ 

As acity planner I can speak of what he dreamed and attempted, and 
somewhat of what he did, from the standpoint of a civic observer who 
for a quarter of a century has striven to make American communities 
better places in which to live, visiting in that wholly unofficial endeavor 
a halfthousand of the cities, towns, and villages of this great nation. 

In his city-planning work, Mr. Brunner remarkably combined the 
practicabilities of any situation to which his genius was applied. He 
knew his subject instinctively as well as from full study and wide travel, 
and this instinctive basis comes rather close, I think, to that quality 


24 ARNOLD W. BRUNNER 


which we call genius, and which adds to unremitting effort a spiritual 
insight that no man of mere painstaking application could ever provide. 

It was, then, this quality of insight or of genius that caused Arnold 
Brunner to see past the mere trafhc arrangement, the street layout, 
the location of public buildings, and so to conceive them to be put 
together as to place in the eye of the common people those forms of 
beauty that make life so much better worth living. 

That his conception of city-planning was sound and very different 
from the thought based on many of the relatively ornamental cities of 
Europe, in which beauty sometimes acts as a front for squalor, was 
well proved when in his memorable Baltimore report, written in 1910, 
he said, in addressing the mayor and the government of that city, and 
speaking as well for his associates, John M. Carrére and Frederick 
Law Olmsted: 

“T. shall not speak of the city beautiful, which seems to imply sculp- 
ture, fountains and a world of pretty things; that is not what our Com- 
mission has in mind at all. The City Sensible is more to the point. . . . 
A city should be treated as a whole and should have a plan the same 
as a building. It may not be built from plans and specifications and 
finished according to contract, but it must follow some definite pre- 
arranged scheme. | 

“Most of our cities straggle and develop in a haphazard fashion. 
The majority of them ‘just growed,’ like Topsy. No one would under- 
take a business operation of any magnitude without looking ahead and 
making some provision for the future. The average city does just the con- 
trary, and with few regulations for guidance and no provision for future 
expansion and growth, congestion and irregularities occur which are the 
cause of great inconvenience. Mistakes are made and much unnecessary 
expense is the result of the changing and re-changing found necessary. 

“It is quite possible to regulate the growth of a city. We regulate 
the trafic in the streets and naturally submit to the rules of the Fire, 
Health, and Building Departments, and so the control of the expansion 
of streets and buildings is logical and proper. A crowd left to its own 


io tit ee al ebayer Pal ANON ER 25 


devices becomes a mob; the same crowd drilled and properly led be- 
comes an army. es 

“The importance of civic beauty is admitted, but there is a general 
feeling that it is extravagant and that you cannot afford it. It is not 
extravagance; it is economy. ; 

“A number of ornate buildings, scattered here and there and built 
on streets that are too narrow to receive them, and expensive monu- 
ments, placed on inadequate sites, cannot make a beautiful city. Buildings 
that are excellent in themselves are ineffective unless properly placed. 
Fountains and statues demand proper positions and well-designed sur- 
roundings or their beauty is lost.” 

When it is realized that these words were written a half-generation 
ago, the prophetic quality of Mr. Brunner’s thought and recommenda 
tion is apparent. That he thought of zoning as a necessary part of a 
city’s progress long before that name had been applied to the regula- 
tion of the height, area, and use of buildings in cities, appeared in his 
“Studies for Albany,” prepared at the request of the mayor of that city 
in 1913. He then gave utterance as follows: 

“To preserve the streets, a law regulating the height of buildings is 
absolutely necessary. It seems obvious that buildings should be pro- 
portioned to the width of the street upon which they are built. The 
streets belong to the citizens and no individual should be allowed to 
ruin them. One of the greatest elements of beauty in the most noted 
streets of Europe is due to the fact that the height of the buildings is 
restricted. Several American cities have already passed laws to this 
effect, and these laws have been found to be constitutional by the courts. 
Boston, for instance, has different limits in different parts of the city, 
varying from 80 to 125 feet, and New York City has just passed a law 
which is extremely liberal but is a long step in the right direction. 

“Albany at present has not been spoiled by groups of skyscrapers, 
a fact that makes it comparatively easy now for it to pass laws limiting 
the height of buildings.” 

It is a regret that I have not notes made at the time of the utter- 


26 A-RN OLD -W,-- BRU NGNaE sa: 


ance of one of Mr. Brunner’s characteristic and picturesque descriptions 
of that part of New York City almost wholly given over to what is 
known as “The Great White Way at Night,” and which ought to be 
known through its daytime appearance of machinery for light signs as 
“The Great Black Mess in the Daytime.” Ican quote, however, from this 
same Albany report sententious utterances showing his conception of 
the street furnishings and of the advertising difficulties: 

“Necessary evils, such as trolley poles, may be inoffensive or they 
may be violently objectionable. Letter-boxes, fire-hydrants, and the like 
may be inconspicuous or glaringly evident. Street signs may be positive 
annoyances or examples of excellent lettering. The electroliers, of all 
things, must be well designed or they may exercise a direful influence 
on their surroundings. A good electrolier costs no more than an ugly 
Ones se 
“No city or no street is free from the advertising nuisance. Great 
efforts are now being made in many parts of the country to limit and 
restrict advertising so that the most beautiful buildings and parks shall 
not be spoiled. Legitimate advertising is often so exaggerated that the 
insistence of the business of the individual at the expense of the rights 
and feelings of the public has become a scandal. The billboard, unless 
kept within careful bounds, has become a public enemy and every 
means should be taken to suppress it.” 

This Albany report is of peculiar interest to me because it relates 
to one instance in which I quite unconsciously collaborated before the 
act, and not after it, with Mr. Brunner. 

Sometime early in the second decade of this century, Mr. Bok, of 
The Ladies’ Home Journal, had agreed with me that it was worth while 
to make effort toward having American state capital cities better in- 
dicative of the security and self-respect of the governmental functions 
of the states they lead. This brought about visits to many state capi- 
tals and resulted in a series of pages for the magazine concerning these 
capitals, the pages being wholly pictorial and the story only in the 
legends under the pictures. 


Ret 
S, aq 
ae 
an tes 
- 
= 


ebietheeee lok yore A NEN ER 27 


Now Albany, New York, was one of the cities visited, as was 
Trenton, the capital of New Jersey. The Trenton page was first printed. 
It was absolutely truthful, to be sure, but it opened to the eyes of 
Trenton a condition of public squalor and general ugliness which had 
been complacently accepted for a long time, but the publication of which 
was bitterly resented. The immediate outcome was a letter to the 
publisher of The Ladies’ Home Journal, denying the facts. The morning 
after a copy of it reached me, I was in Trenton looking for the writer 
who had, however, found it convenient to be away that day. I first 
visited all the localities and found that nothing had happened to change 
the situation, and then called at the City Hall, where an endeavor was 
made at once to put me on the defensive. Not ten minutes passed be- 
fore there was complete admission that the pictures were accurate. 
The outcome was happy, for Trenton did have ideas of betterment, 
and Trenton since has excellently begun to carry them out, possibly 
hastened considerably by seeing herself as others saw her. 

The Albany page was much worse than the Trenton page, because 
the rail and water approach both provided for Albany an even more 
impressively disregardful and ugly condition than that relating to 
Trenton. Inasmuch as publication was delayed, it seemed wise to go 
to Albany and note whether conditions had changed. It was in con- 
nection with this visit that I had one of my first contacts with Mr. 
Brunner, from whose “Studies for Albany” I have above quoted. He 
had seized upon the very things that my completely made-up page of 
pictures painfully and glaringly showed, and had proposed plans for 
making beauty and orderliness where there was only unpleasant dis- 
regard for either. Of course, the page was dropped, and it was one of 
the unconscious victories of a picturesque journalistic campaign for 
which the editor properly took credit in “The Americanization of 
Edward Bok.” 

Somewhat in the same general direction, but without the picturesque 
accessories, was acquaintance with the city of Rochester, to which city 


1Charles Downing Lay, collaborating Landscape Architect. 


28 ARN O°L DoW. SB aReG ae 


I had taken the general story of city betterment and city planning, 
without knowledge that Mr. Brunner wasassociated with Bion J. Arnold 
and Frederick Law Olmsted in plans for better things for that city. 
Looking now at the “City Plan for Rochester” I am the more impressed 
with the sane soundness of the plan, with its practicability, and with 
deep regret that while Rochester has listened to these prophets, she has 
not as yet given full heed to their voices. 

Mr. Brunner’s introductory remarks to the Rochester report are 
very much in point: 

“Rochester is exceptionally agreeable among American cities of its 
size; it is prosperous; it is growing. What occasion is there for improve- 
ment? Just because it is prosperous and growing Rochester must take 
steps to meet the changing conditions forced upon it by that growth, or 
in the absence of improvement will come deterioration; for a living city 
cannot stand still. 

“The main physical features of the city, over which the municipality 
alone has responsible comprehensive control are, (1) the means of local 
transportation, consisting of streets and the street railways and other 
public services that use them and thereby multiply their usefulness; 
and (2) the public buildings and public open spaces for every kind of 
use. All of these must be considered with regard to their net value 
to the community from the point of view of their practical efficiency 
and from that of their contribution to the agreeableness of the city as 
a place of residence and of industry.” 

I might speak at length of that group plan for the city of Cleveland 
in which Mr. Brunner collaborated with Daniel H. Burnham and 
John M. Carrére, which was properly heralded abroad and, alas, not 
followed as it might and should have been, because of changing adminis- 
trations and political interferences. Any discussion I could make of 
that plan, or of the Baltimore report above referred to, or of the pro- 
posed changes for Riverside Drive’ extension in New York, clear out- 
side of my bailiwick, would lead into a field of technique in which I 


1 Frederick Law Olmsted, collaborating Landscape Architect; also for the Denver Civic Center Plan. 


five rap ie Gr leet Ye we bole eee Nei R. 29 


am competent only as I have enthusiasm for the work proposed, with- 
out any claim for other ability to judge it than merely to set it up 
against what seem to be human needs and means for their satisfaction. 
It was these human needs that stirred Mr. Brunner to great words and 
to great thoughts, as witness another quotation from the Boston 
address of 1915: ) 

“It seems to me that in our daily lives we have underestimated the 
influence that our backgrounds, our scenery, exert on us. I know a 
church that suggests a music hall. I know a theatre so sombre and 
gloomy that our spirits are depressed when we enter it. I know a 
museum of fine arts where it is almost impossible to concentrate one’s 
attention on the paintings and sculpture. These buildings, pretty enough 
to look at, violate the first rule of the game. They do not express their 
purpose, but on the contrary nullify and contradict it. 

“Some years ago | had occasion to visit a court-room in New York. 
Men kept on their hats, whistled and laughed. Large brass spittoons 
were numerous, but though necessary, were copiously disregarded. A 
noisy lady who sold apples was garrulous and apparently very popular. 
The general atmosphere was most disorderly and the attendants had 
difficulty in securing silence at the entrance of the judge. 

“A few years later I visited the same court-room and was astonished 
to find all this changed. Men removed their hats when they entered, 
and talked in low tones. The apple lady remained in the corridor and 
an air of dignity and decency prevailed. 

“The reason for this gratifying change was that the eastern wall 
had been covered by a mural painting of great beauty —Simmons’ figure 
of Justice in the center, flanked by well-painted groups on each side, 
three prisoners on the right and the three Fates on the left, dominated 
the room. The influence of this powerful composition had made the 
previous disgraceful conditions impossible. The picture made its appeal 
and the appeal was instantly answered. 

“Whoever has seen Blashfield’s mural painting in the United States 
Court-room in the Cleveland Federal Building must recall its effect on 


30 AOR N' OhaD? AW. abe aN CNer aR, 


the public. Its beauty and strength, the two splendid angels pointing 
to the Ten Commandments, the majesty of the law and the tragedy of 
crime— here too make a background that speaks; that fulfils its purpose. 

“We can build a study in which no man can study, a library in 
which nobody can read, or we can design rooms for such purposes, 
restful in treatment, simple in form, quiet in tone, that will not irritate 
and distract, but on the contrary soothe the inmates and make concen- 
tration easier. Such rooms exist.” 

Of course Mr. Brunner was a courteous gentleman, and as a mem- 
ber of the Executive Board of the American Civic Association I found 
him, for the long years of my endeavor as its president, keenly interested 
and broadly helpful. He was enjoyable, too, because of his picturesque 
quality of expression, particularly when addressing himself to the bill- 
board nightmare above referred to, which both daily and nightly makes 
great Manhattan a hurly-burly of lights and letters, of pills and pickles, 
of cigars and coffees. Nobody was more disturbed than Mr. Brunner, 
especially as he saw the new skyline of New York growing in novel 
beauty, at those selfish advertising monstrosities which, even now, 
may not have reached their climax of civic jazzing. As I have before 
written, he could say things about billboards which if he had been 
close enough were sufficiently hot to have burned them down! One 
of these remarks I have treasured: 

“Individualism is admirable, but it may generate into license. Even 
in a free country, a democracy, there is a limit to the rights of the 
individual, and that limit is reached when they run counter to the 
rights of the community.” ; 

But there was a quality about Mr. Brunner, peculiar, rare, admir- 
able, valuable, not possessed by many men. Believing in a subject, he 
had that curious indefinable faculty which is sometimes called personal 
magnetism that would cause others to believe in him. He could meet 
men who came to him hostile to any idea he might have, and could 
win them to his way of thinking not only by the straightforward 
showing of merit but by his genial, persuasive eloquence. I have seen 


erie reeein Yerorele A Ne No RR 31 


him in action repeatedly, and with a long experience in seeing good 
things go wrong for the lack of just that quality, could admire the way 
in which Mr. Brunner handled one governor after another of the State 
of Pennsylvania to bring through a great dream which, if it may be 
carried out, as now seems likely, will add to his enduring fame. He 
was the tactful, genial, resourceful advocate who, not abating one iota 
either of dignity or of principle, could by sheer force of his personality 
win past obstacles that had been insurmountable to others. 

It was this quality of his character applied to his citizenship which 
made him possess the nth power of ability in his work as architect in 
connection with the Pennsylvania Capitol improvements and exten- 
sions. He did not always get all he wanted, but he always made an 
impression, always kept his temper, and always scored an advance, even 
if not the advance to which he was entitled. 

Arnold W. Brunner was a great man as a friend as well as an archi- 
tect, a city-planner, an advocate, and a citizen, and I am the better, 
much the better, for years of association with him on a plane wholly 
outside his business, where I was, in a sense, a sort of imitation John 
the Baptist for the things for which he stood. 


J. Horace McFartanp 


THE COLLABORATOR 


J 
Y MEMORIES of Arnold Brunner began long ago when he 


was a very young student in Paris, and in the great army of 

men whom I met there and later in New York, I recall scarcely 
one who so retained his appearance of youth. I am sure that to the end 
of his life none, save those who really knew, would have dreamed how 
greatly the number of his years exceeded that appearance. 

Perhaps the natural sweetness of his disposition kept him youthful. 
I have more than once seen him overworked, harassed even, by the 
problems which were poured in upon him, have seen when it was 
proper for him to be angry and he came right up to the mark that one 
liked to see reached, but I never saw him peevish. Busy as he was— 
hurrying from an interview in his office to his seat in a Pullman car, 
and then off on the road towards some city which he was pulling to 
pieces before new planning should begin to take effect —he seemed to 
always find time to answer questions or give advice at the last moment 
and to answer and advise kindly. 

In some way or other, the association of him with Paris, which in 
my mind began so early, never ceased, and I think of him as happening 
along the Rue de Rivoli or out of some hotel from the Crillon to the 
westward as far as Meurice’s to the East, always with Mrs. Brunner, 
and so often with a prompt invitation to one to lunch or dine and go 
afterwards en petit comité to some theatre, preferably the Comédie Fran- 
caise or the Odeon, for both he and Mrs. Brunner loved the drama and 
were well up in their knowledge of the repertoire —the plays that had 
lasted and were given occasionally and loyally by that nation which, 
nominally fickle, is of all countries most faithful to its masterpieces, 
whether of three years ago or three hundred. I well remember how, 
as we stood one day on the Place du Palais-Royal and not far from the 
outdoor passage, shut in by wooden rails that led to the ticket office of 


VITRE 


AFTER THE WATER COLOR BY MR. BRUNNER 


Ten Ee CO LAB OR ATOR 33 


the cheaper seats for the Comédie Francaise, he said, “Look at them,” 
pointing at the workingmen and shop¢girls packed in behind the rails 
and patiently waiting at seven in the evening in the late sunshine of a 
summer day. “Look at them —those people giving their time and their 
small savings to an evening with Moliere or Victor Hugo or Alfred de 
Musset instead of to the movies—isn’t it bully?” He traveled exten- 
sively in Europe in the interests of the study which was so especially 
congenial to him, the study of city-planning, and talk with him about 
it was likely to be interesting and enlightening. 

I had spent part of a summer just before the great war in visiting 
German cities; the Teuton love of trees and capacity for bringing the 
forest up against and almost into the smaller towns had compelled my 
enthusiasm, and induced much talk about Cassel and Leipzig and other 
places. Brunner praised willingly what was good, but showed me excel- 
lent reasons for much qualification of my enthusiasm. 

And it was so when, one day, Mrs. Brunner and he and I went 
up the river past Notre-Dame, to visit, as guests of Colonel Pichon, 
the proprietor, his famous Hotel de Lauzun, which helps to guard 
one end of the ancient quarter that surrounds Saint Louis en I’Ile and 
covers the little island. It was at a moment when there had been 
much talk about the property possibly passing into American hands 
and being dedicated in a way to American progress in the arts. I was 
to be Mr. Brunner’s guide to the hotel, but he became my guide the 
moment we entered the seventeenth-century courtyard, and in the 
Louis Fourteenth and Louis Fifteenth rooms of the main floor, he pointed 
out to me not only what was worth while but what was not, and 
gave most useful suggestions, both of encouragement and warning, in 
relation to the difficult problem which might confront us in any pro- 
posed adaptation of this fine old palace of the Montpensiers to modern 
needs of either club-house or headquarters for experts and professors 
of the arts, since there was never any thought of turning it into a 
painting or drawing-school. ht 

It was quite natural that a man who found a congenial task in the 


34 ARNOLD W. BRUNNER 


altering of the silhouette of a whole quarter of a town should be inter- 
ested in that compositional interrelation which is the very first thing to 
be studied in the interior decoration of buildings. 

The movement in American mural building began immediately after, 
and even during the holding of the World’s Columbian Exhibition of 
Chicago. McKim, Post, and Richard M. Hunt led the way. One 
remembers with respect, and even reverence, the example of William 
Hunt in Albany, and of John LaFarge in the Church of the Ascension, 
and one eagerly watched the placing of Abbey’s and Sargent’s work 
in the Public Library of Boston. Brunner, though a younger man than 
any of the “big four” of Chicago, almost immediately interested him- 
self in the carrying on and developing of the new work. There had 
already come one of the widest opportunities that had or ever has 
come to American decorators in the State Capitol of Minnesota in 
Saint Paul—and Brunner shortly followed with his Federal Building 
of Cleveland which included the court house and post office, and for 
which very many painters and sculptors collaborated under the super- 
intendence of the architect. In the Fifty-seventh Street house of Mr. 
Adolph Lewisohn, as well as in the much larger house which he 
occupied later on Fifth Avenue, Brunner introduced much decorative 
sculpture and painting, and his name was again closely connected with 
that of Mr. Lewisohn in the building of the stadium immediately 
adjoining the College of the City of New York. When the fourth 
centenary of Shakespeare was celebrated, and Mr. Percy MacKaye’s 
Caliban was being played there, the author took me behind the 
scenes, up the towers and all over the stadium, and in seeing the hun- 
dreds of young people who made up the dramatis persone, swarming 
among the columns when they were not in the arena playing, and 
always in the light of the torches and great cressets and colored 
fires, anyone with a sense of dramatic beauty had to feel profoundly 
grateful to Arnold Brunner for having provided one of the most 
effective and impressive backgrounds that could be seen anywhere. 
The columns and great curves to the steps of Brunner’s creation were, 


iene COLLAB ORAT © R 45 


perhaps, even more consonant with the colossal dramas of Euripides, 
Iphigenia, and the Trojan women which followed there a few 
months later. 

Brunner’s interest in decoration, whether by painting or sculpture, 
was unflagging, and my very last communication with him was in re- 
gard to some panels which at his instance were being painted for 
Columbia University (Barnard College) by a young graduate of the 
American Academy of Rome. Mr. Francis C. Jones and I went to- 
gether to inspect the panels at Brunner’s urgent request. On our return 
with a favorable report, we telephoned at once and learned that he 
was too ill to be spoken to —it was the beginning of the end. Certainly 
he died in harness if ever a man did. My feeling is strong that he de- 
rived real pleasure from his interest in decoration for he gave great 
pleasure to those who worked with him. 

He was peculiarly sympathetic as a collaborator and as the commander 
of an enterprise, which the architect naturally becomes in any general 
decorative scheme, for he had a way at once of keeping in touch with 
his collaborator and at the same time leaving the latter an almost com- 
plete freedom of thought and action. He did not say “I feel this, thus 
and thus” but instead, he asked “How do you feel this?” and if your 
point were at all well taken he would at once accept it in principle 
even if he modified it in detail. He enjoyed working out the prob- 
lem with his executant, and when the panel for the court house in 
the Federal Building of Cleveland was being painted, much time was 
given to talks which he and I had together and during which we made 
careful preliminary reviews of the general color-scheme for the interior 
of the principal court-room, he meantime showing me good-sized speci- 
mens of all the marbles to be employed, as well as of the different ton- 
alities which would be used in the gilding. 

The first work which I did for him was begun not so very long 
after the Columbian Exhibition of Chicago ended, and from that 
time onward we served again and again together on committees of the 
Architectural League, the Federation of Fine Arts of New York, the 


36 ARNOLD W. BRUNNER 


National Institute of Arts and Letters, while we frequently ran across 
each other in summer-time in Europe. 

In this way, and especially during his Cleveland work, I had many 
opportunities of marveling over the number and variety of the questions 
brought before an architect and frequently for immediate decision. 
They impressed me profoundly, and I venture to quote here, from a 
book by myself on mural painting in America, a couple of pages, touch- 
ing upon the ubiquity and omniscience demanded from any architect 
who is creating a great public building. 

“Think of the whole that must be conceived as a whole, the parts 
that must be subordinated—their infinite and infinitely subtle inter- 
relations, their sizes, proportion, shapes, colors, surfaces, the nature of 
their material, the character of their appearance, simple or complicated, 
austere or rich. What employment is here, what exaction! If we drop 
a pin into a delicate mechanism, the disturbance may at once be felt 
by even ponderous wheels which that delicacy has served and governed. 
Anybody can understand this because anybody can understand the 
disturbance that results. In a great building, a small artistic mistake 
may also be farreaching in its disturbance of general harmony, but this 


time it is not by any means everyone who can realize it at first, because — 


it is not so patent and only such eyes note it as are prompted either by 
feeling or informed by training. But the small mistake, if unnoted, can go 
on with its mischief until a big dissonance results, and you have a regular 
‘house that Jack built’ of successive mischances, all started by one little 
disagreement when ‘the dog began to worry the cat’ with bad forms 
upon good proportions or something of the sort. 

“All this the architect must foresee, or rectify, or suffer for. There- 
fore he must be armed at every point; he must bea gladiator and fight 
the opinion of big and little where it is hurtful, and he must have a 
moral consciousness that can soar like an aéroplane above consideration 
of gain. He must, for example, reject in favor of cheaper material the 
costlier marble which would swell his commission but might hurt his 
artistic effect. He must be modern and meet the modern problem, and 


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in so doing must turn his back resolutely upon some of the effects 
which he has most loved and studied in the past, effects upon which 
he has been brought up to the comfort of his eyes and mind. He may 
not consider first of all the proportions which he would like to have. 
He may not spread out his plan, for he is building on ground more pre- 
cious than gold, and he must squeeze his house and press it together, 
and shoot it straight up into the air. Two feet of recess may cost thou- 
sands; two feet of projection may entail a lawsuit and condemnation. 
He may not treat his facade with beautiful constructive ornaments, but 
instead must make it a kind of colander for the sifting of light into 
every cranny of a thousand office rooms, and in considering these same 
rooms he must unite something of the knowledge of a fireman, a pur- 
veyor of fresh air, and even of a sanitary inspector . . . . Historians 
of art have celebrated the many-sidedness of Renaissance architects who 
could build domes and paint miniatures, play the lute and write sonnets, 
carve intagli and colossi, but even of them we believe were hardly ex- 
acted more kinds of knowledge than are exacted of the modern architect. 

“Are you a man or a meeracle?’ says the sergeant to Kipling’s 
Mulvaney in My Lord the Elephant. ‘Betwixt and betune,’ replied 
Mulvaney. And so to me the architect has seemed betwixt and between 
a man and a miracle in his capacity for round knowledge.” 

Brunner was very generous in giving his personal time both in ad- 
vising and making sketches. The often-recurring Building Projects of 
the National Academy of Design, which brought about periods of men- 
tal and physical travail for all of us who were upon the various com- 
mittees, never found him indifferent, and he helped us with important 
and elaborate drawings more than once. As an officer, too, whether 
as president of the Fine Arts Federation of New York, or as treasurer 
of the National Institute of Arts and Letters, his qualities were of high 
value to those societies, for he added to the faithfulness of his atten- 
dance an invariably patient kindliness in listening to long discussions, 
and he showed a quick sympathy with the other man’s point of view. 
In my own relations with him, which covered many years, it seemed 


38 ACR EN, OO EAD SAW: eB oR ON INSE 


to me that a certain delicacy was always notable in him, as if he had 
his eyes first, of course, upon the work and its proper conduct, then, 
secondly, upon my interests rather than upon his own. In fact, to em- 
ploy that most useful Italian expression, he was eminently simpatico. I 
have heard from young people who went to him with their troubles 
that he would take up the problem for them in the most generous 
spirit and, laying hold of the first sheet of paper at hand, he would 
rapidly make sketch after sketch, saying, “You try that” or “How’s 
this; is this in the direction of your thought? If so, why not make this?” 
or that, or the other modification, until he had unraveled the worst 
tangles for them and sent them away encouraged. In fact, he was the 
sort of man whose enthusiasm for his work, backed by his considera- 
tion, his promptness, his energy, and the bonhommie which permeated 
every one of these qualities, made him one to be relied upon and wel- 
comed indeed by those to whom he so generously gave his friendship. 
In many art societies, architects, sculptors, painters, and members of the 
Century and Players’ Clubs will remember long and affectionately their 


comrade, Arnold Brunner. 
Epwin H. BLAsHFIELD 


iB 
} { Y ACQUAINTANCE with Arnold Brunner was coincident 


with my coming to New York to live. It was in the spring 

of 1888 that I bought a house— 125 West Eleventh Street — 
which I proposed to convert into a studio for myself, with other studios 
for possible artist tenants. Naturally I needed professional advice, and 
found it in the office of Brunner & Tryon, a firm of young architects 
who had recently opened an office on Union Square. Thus began an ac- 
quaintance ripening into friendship and continuing until recently, broken 
first by the death of Thomas Tryon and, last spring, by the passing of 
Mr. Brunner. I may recall that I put the patience and amiability of my 


Peileteee Os TAB OO RA TeOtR 39 


architects to a test after plans had been made for converting my house 
into studios, by suddenly breaking it to them that I had concluded to 
take unto myself a wife, and that the plans would have to be radically 
changed to meet the new conditions, as a residence as well as my studio. 
That our relations were not strained by this change of front is in itself 
a tribute to the architects. The partnership of Brunner & Tryon was 
dissolved after a few years, but an acquaintance so happily begun with 
Arnold Brunner developed in succeeding years into an unbroken and 
valued friendship. 

Of Mr. Brunner’s ability and accomplishments in his profession, 
others will speak with greater authority than I could, and give him the 
high place to which he is entitled, but I may properly speak of his 
happy attitude toward collaboration and of his recognition of sculpture 
as a decorative essential of his buildings. On the exterior of the post 
office building in Cleveland and on the Cuyohoga court house, he 
made sculpture a prominent feature, and enlisted the services of a num- 
ber of sculptors in making the groups and single figures, applied with 
a realizing sense of the value of sculpture to architecture. My own 
association with the architect in this work I recall with pride and 
pleasure. He was an ideal patron, uniting with a knowledge of the 
character of the sculpture he desired and the architectural requirements, 
a recognition of the fact that, within certain limits, it is better to let 
the sculptor work out his own solution of the problem rather than 
to hamper him by imposing embarrassing restrictions. This does not 
mean that he failed to keep control of the whole scheme and to put 
the impress of his own ideas upon the work, but that he also was most 
considerate of the sculptor’s point of view and did not worry him with 
immaterial details, a course which has been the cause of more failures 
in sculpture than anything else. 

Mr. Brunner will be remembered by his high achievements in archi- 
tecture; by his extraordinary public spirit which led him to give un- 
sparingly of his time, strength, and talents to matters of art and utility 
in city, state, and country; by his prominence in occupying positions 


40 ARNOLD W. BRUNNER 


of honor and usefulness, as president or chairman in art societies and 
committees entrusted with important art developments; by his exhaus- 
tive knowledge of city-planning and the practical application of this 
knowledge, notably illustrated in Cleveland; by his fairness, good judg- 
ment, and wisdom which made him sought far and wide as arbiter in 
important public affairs; by his gift of oral expression which enabled 
him to give his views and opinions clearly and forcibly, always with 
conviction but with due deference to the opinions of others; finally, 
and perhaps more than by aught else, he will be remembered by the 
personality and the traits that so endeared him to the wide circle of 
his acquaintances and the closer circle of those who felt that they knew 
him intimately. 

Rare social qualities as evident as daylight were his, and they made 
him universally welcome. To these qualities add those of cheer and 
humor, of quickness of perception, buoyancy, and interest in his fellow- 
man; add also a felicitous talent for conversation, a knowledge of the 
world, and a keen interest in it—add all these and even more, for such 
is the abiding memory of the man. 

It is a common remark that the world goes on just the same how- 
ever prominent the man may be who leaves it, but this is far from the 
truth, and in the case of a man like Brunner is obviously false. The 
combination of talents and acquirements that made him so valuable and 
so useful a member of the community was unique, and no one can fill 
his exact place or perform as he did the services to which his life was 
dedicated. We have to content ourselves with the knowledge that 
what he accomplished has greatly benefited the world, and that his 
character and his works will continue to be a power for good for all time. 


DanieL C. FRENCH 


Hee COLELAB ORATOR 41 


III 
fe ces CLARK said of Thomas Jefferson, “His mind was both 


telescopic and microscopic in its range and operation.” Those 

who worked with Arnold Brunner in his various fields of en- 
deavor must have felt that he, too, gave evidence of having that type 
of mind. 

Brunner was an enthusiast in all things, great or small. His interest 
was without limitations. He knew the “feel” of a medal or coin and 
enjoyed the surface of a canvas or a marble. In his attitude toward 
the creations of his fellow artists, he always found the good in their 
work and the time to make mention of it to others. 

A proposition put to Brunner was met by the full measure of his 
critical power — examining it from every conceivable angle and testing 
each and every part. He would render his opinions in such a genial 
manner that, though his criticism were destructive, he never gave 
offense in presenting it. 

He was keen to benefit from the suggestions of others and would 
ply one with such questions as, “Do you feel that if as and so were 
done, the results would be better?”; or perhaps, “If instead of doing 
thus and so—we did this or that?” He was always anxious to draw 
helpful suggestions from any source. His innate sense of the fitness of 
things was developed to a marked degree, making him a sound and sane 
critic, possessing a constructive rather than destructive tendency. 
For this reason he rendered valuable service on a number of important 
commissions engaged in planning the architectonic future of several 
cities, including our National Capital. | 

He valued the importance of concerted effort toward holding the 
individuals of the different artistic professions together, and took an 
active part as leader and councilman in a dozen such organizations. 
His clearness of thought, the correctness of his judgment, and the 
incisiveness of his opinions, coupled with an unusual executive and 
administrative ability, made him a splendid officer. 


42 ARNOLD W. BRUNNER 


Brunner was a versatile conversationalist. His interests in life were 
so many-sided that he could take an active part in any discussion and 
invariably make a valued contribution, adding always a delightful 
humorous note, by a timely anecdote or story. 

He preferred to talk on matters pertaining to art, yet never forced 
this, his favorite topic, but would express his views on most any sub- 
ject with the same interest and ability. 

As an architect, his works throughout our country speak for him. 

In making this inventory of the factors in the character of Arnold 
Brunner that lifted him above his fellow workers, I cannot help feeling 
that, knowing him as well as I did, my memory of him as a friend has 
prevented me from giving an adequate outline of his make-up. I might 
have said that, in the passing of Brunner, we lost a great architect — 


a true friend—a genuine man. 
Rosert I. AIrKen 


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FELLOW MEMBER 


N ONE of the essays which Cowper contributed to The Connois- 
seur a century and a half ago he recorded his opinion that “the 
rational intercourse kept up by conversation is one of our principal 

distinctions from brutes”; and this opinion is as valid early in the twen- 
tieth century as it was late in the eighteenth. A main reason why we 
join clubs is that we may thereby profit by the rational intercourse of 
conversation and thus emphasize our distinction from the brutes. But 
we are usually cautious in our selection of our associates in these circles; 
and we are likely to be attracted to the organization wherein we may 
expect to have the inestimable privilege of foregathering with those 
“who speak our own language’”—to borrow an apt phrase. We seek 
out congenial spirits having kindred tastes, however much they may 
differ from us in their opinions. 

In three different groups of men more or less like-minded I had the 
pleasure of meeting Arnold Brunner and of remarking his possession 
of the indefinable quality which has been called “clubbability.” These 
three organizations are The Players, the Century Association and the 
National Institute of Arts and Letters, in each of which Brunner made 
himself immediately welcome and long held an honored place. In fact, 
he was so highly esteemed that he was elected to office, at one time or 
another, in all three of them. It is always a compliment when a mem- 
ber is asked to accept a position of responsibility; and if he is so chosen 
by the suffrages of his fellow members year after year, the election is 
not an empty compliment, it is a testimonial to his successful service, 
to his competence for this labor of love, often as onerous as it is always 
unremunerated. This recognition of his qualification for office came to 
Arnold Brunner repeatedly, and always without his seeking it. 

I doubt not that other contributors to this memorial will record 
amply and adequately Arnold Brunner’s services to the city of New 
York — first as a member of the Board of Education and then as a mem- 
ber of the Art Commission. He served also as a member of the Na- 


44 ARNOLD W. BRUNNER 


tional Commission of Fine Arts. He was a vice-president of the Ameri- 
can Civic Association and of the National Sculpture Society. He was 
president of the Architectural League, of the New York Chapter of the 
American Institute of Architects, and of the Fine Arts Federation of 
New York. He was elected an associate of the National Academy of 
Design in 1910, and he became a member in 1916. He was chosen to the 
National Institute of Arts and Letters in 1913. These honors may have 
come to him mainly in recognition of his own artistic accomplishment; 
but they are, some of them at least, also testimonials to his administra- 
tive ability, to his willingness to give himself freely for the benefit of 
his fellows. Even more obviously, however, do many of these promo- 
tions testify to his ample possession of the social gift, to his urbanity, 
to his tact, to his facility in getting on with his fellowmen, and to his 
energy in getting things done. His aid could always be counted on in 
any effort to advance the standards of civilization and to make life 
richer and finer and better worth living. 

I dwell on his possession of the social gift because it was one of 
the most outstanding traits of his character. He had a shrewd compre- 
hension of human nature. I noted this when I first met him at The 
Players, more than a score of years ago. When he came into the grill- 
room he was always heartily greeted and a place would be made for 
him, even if the table happened to be already crowded. The Players 
was founded by Edwin Booth especially as a home for actors, dramatists, 
and managers, but its founder had wisely arranged that the stage-folk 
should be amply companioned by the practitioners of all the allied arts, 
by painters and sculptors, by architects and musicians. The wisdom of 
Edwin Booth in thus mingling artists of all sorts was justified from the 
very beginning. The Players constituted a happy family into which 
Arnold Brunner was instantly adopted. 

? Equally cordial was his reception by the Century Association, to 

which he was elected in 1903. Between The Players and the Century 
there are as many points of similarity as there are of dissimilarity. In 
fact, the most obvious difference is that the average age of a Centurion 


STUDY FOR PROPOSED MUSIC AND ART CENTER—NEW YORK CITY 


FACING CENTRAL PARK—FIFTY-NINTH STREET 


Pee COW MEMBER 45 


is probably ten or fifteen years more than the average age of a Player. 
The Players, which had been established for the benefit of the actors, 
had greatly gained by its inclusion of authors and artists; and the Cen- 
tury, which was founded by artists and lovers of art, had achieved a 
like catholicity of membership. And in both clubs the art most insis- 
tently cultivated was the art of conversation. So it was that Arnold 
Brunner as speedily made a place for himself in the older institution as 
he had in the younger. In both he could not but feel that he was in 
his element. He wasa good talker —and an even better listener; and the 
art of listening is as precious as the art of conversation, and even rarer. 

In the commemorating paragraphs of the annual report of the Sec- 
retary of the Century, Mr. Alexander Dana Noyes, we are told that 
Arnold Brunner was not often absent from the long luncheon-table 
where “his ready conversation, apt rejoinder, and quickly kindled humor 
always gave stimulus to the exchange of views. He was perfectly willing 
to talk shop, if the conversation moved in that direction, and he talked 
it so extremely well that he rarely failed to give to his interlocutors 
new viewpoints on art and architecture. That is the part of his con- 
versation which the rest of us will undoubtedly remember, although 
Brunner never forced his favorite topic and although he interested him- 
self at once when the discussion turned to other aspects of life and 
professional achievement . . . . To the last, contempt for the com- 
monplace and banal was his underlying principle. When pressed, as he 
sometimes was, to reproduce architectural effects of a period whose 
appeal was made chiefly to primitive architectural taste, Brunner was 
always fond of citing the dictum of another old-time Centurion, to the 
effect that American architecture of that type embodied ‘the art of 
covering one thing with another thing to imitate a third thing, which, 
if genuine, would be highly undesirable’.” 

Both in The Players and in the Century, Arnold Brunner was hon- 
ored by election to office. In the Century he was a member of the 
arduous Committee on Admissions. In The Players he sat on the Board 
of Directors and served for three years as the treasurer. 


46 ASREN? OCD DoW 2B ae NaN Shak 


I was associated with Arnold Brunner also in the National Institute 
of Arts and Letters, and here again he proved himself to be most efhi- 
cient — so efhcient indeed that his fellow members violated an established 
tradition and insisted on his retaining office long after the normal 
period of its occupancy had expired. The constitution of the National 
Institute of Arts and Letters calls for the annual election of all officers 
—a president, six vice-presidents (representing the three departments 
of literature, art, and music), a secretary, and a treasurer —these nine 
officials constituting the Council which has to guide for twelve months 
the destinies of the organization. To avoid the obvious disadvantages 
of a too rapid rotation in office, the custom has grown up of reelecting 
all these officers for a second annual term, but in order that a large 
number of the members shall have the opportunity of familiarizing 
themselves with the problems of administration, it is only upon rare 
occasions and for special reasons that the incumbent of any office is 
granted a third term. 

The one unprecedented exception to this excellent custom was to 
be observed when Arnold Brunner was elected treasurer year after 
year, until he was serving his eleventh term when he died in office. 
This renewed compliment was evidence of the efficiency with which 
he administered the financial affairs of the Institute. When we had an 
official of proved capacity in a post which demanded special competence, 
we saw no reason for making a change. Possibly this deviation from 
our tradition was due in some measure to the delight with which the 
two or three score of us who dined together at the annual meeting 
listened to Brunner’s report on the state of our finances. He never 
wearied us with a string of figures, always difficult to apprehend if we 
have only our ears to convey them to us. When the order of business 
called for the report of the treasurer, we awaited it without apprehen- 
sion and we received it with acclamation. Arnold Brunner’s succinct 


statement was clear, brief and yet complete: “We have taken in so 


many dollars; we have spent out so many dollars. The annual balance is 
therefore so many dollars; and our total funds are now so many dollars.” 


’ 
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Pee OL WM Re MoBeE-R 47 


Far more competent pens than mine have chronicled the achieve- 
ments of Arnold Brunner as an architect, as the associate of sculptors 
and painters, as an exponent of city-planning, and as a potent factor 
in the artistic advance of this country. He was a good citizen, and a 
helpful friend to all good causes. When his interest was once aroused, 
his response was immediate and unwearying. Yet he was never aggres- 
sive in his advocacy. As he was constantly making friends for himself, 
so he was ever winning friends for the plans he was urging. He was an 
untiring cooperator and a loyal fellow-worker. And, moreover, he was 
possessed of a winning personality — which is to say he was a man as 


attractive as he was unassuming. 
BRANDER MATTHEWS 


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